


Homework Was Never Quite Like This

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-27
Updated: 2006-08-27
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Use of the following prompt for spn_flashback - Dean poses as a teacher in Sam's class to help solve some mysterious death. Sam's annoyed when Dean has a valid reason for not giving him an A.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Homework Was Never Quite Like This  
**Characters:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** R  
**Word Count:** 2, 793  
**Spoilers/Warnings:** pre-Pilot; (barely)underaged incest, m/m sexual content, dirty language, abuse of ellipses, etc.  
**Disclaimer:** Oh, if only.   
**Summary:** Use of the following prompt for [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_flashback/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_flashback/)**spn_flashback** \- _Dean poses as a teacher in Sam's class to help solve some mysterious death. Sam's annoyed when Dean has a valid reason for not giving him an A._  
  
  
  
  
Sam stared at Dean, shock and irritation battling across his features as his brother scribbled across the blackboard then turned, pushing the wire frames up his nose and gifting the class with an all-too roguish smile. But Sam could read the disdain lurking in Dean’s eyes.  
  
“A lotta you little bastards, huh?” Dean muttered a little too loudly. Several people snickered, and a girl in the front sighed dreamily. Sam felt himself turn beet red, even though he knew there was no way anyone would connect him to Dean.  
  
His eyes flicked to the chalkboard. _Make that Mr. Rogers._ Oh, this just got better and better.  
  
Dean studied the class, and the class studied Dean. It would’ve been amusing at any other time, to watch his brother size up the situation like he was trying to decide which weapon in his arsenal would best take care of twenty some-odd high school students. As it was, Sam was just trying to refrain from launching himself across the room and at his interfering brother’s jugular.  
  
Dean glanced his way for the first time since entering the room, and their eyes locked. Those full lips curved at the edges in a smile that was way too fucking personal, and Sam’s cheeks heated as he slumped deeper into his chair. He sent Dean a clear _What the fuck are you doing?_ look that Dean countered with a wink.  
  
A fucking _wink_ , for God’s sake.  
  
“So,” Dean said, clapping his hands together. Eyes still firmly trained on Sam. “What do you all do for fun around here?”  
  
The class tittered. Sam groaned.  
  
“Right, right.” Dean let out a little laugh, hopping up on the desk and swinging his legs. He picked up the lesson planner, scanned it quickly, then let out a snort. “Yeah, I’m thinking _no._ ”  
  
The sound of paper ripping was almost more than Sam could handle. He looked around wildly, waiting for someone to stand up and call Dean out on the fact that he was so obviously _not_ a fucking schoolteacher.   
  
The smiling, interested faces focused on his older brother were obviously not gonna do a damn thing. Sam wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that, or even more pissed-off. One day Dad was gonna push Dean too far – because there was _no_ doubt in Sam’s mind just who was responsible for this latest scam – and Dean was gonna find himself on the wrong side of a set of iron bars. Without his trusty shotgun.  
  
“American History,” Dean was saying thoughtfully up front, legs spread in a fashion his brother probably didn’t realize was practically obscene. Dean was so overly confident in his body that he never stopped to think that other people might not want a crotch-shot view.  
  
Not that Sam would’ve really minded had Dean not been impersonating a freaking high school teacher.  
  
“You know, screw that,” Dean said, slamming his fist down on the desk. A few people jumped. “I’m pretty sure we all know what happens there. I’m more interested in getting to know all of _you_.”  
  
And just like that, Sam saw where this whole thing was headed. He sent his brother a killing glare, which bounced off of Dean as easily as a rubber ball as his brother smiled at a group of girls in the front. Sam watched as the girls nodded enthusiastically, figuratively wrapped around Dean’s little finger.  
  
Son of a _bitch._  
  
Dean hopped up, striking what he probably assumed was a scholastic, professorly pose, and in a dramatic tone that had Sam fighting to keep his eyeballs from rolling out of his head said, “Your assignment. Is yourself.” He waited a beat, and then, “Think of it as a historical account of _your_ life. Tell me about your family, your friends, any weird things that you might’ve seen happen recently—”  
  
“Oh, _please_ ,” Sam muttered under his breath.  
  
“Problem?” Dean asked, and Sam looked up to see his brother eyeing him. Dean moved to check the role call sheet, all feigned curiosity. “Samuel Winchester, right? Is there a problem, Samuel?”  
  
Sam hated being called Samuel more than he hated Sammy, and Dean fucking knew it.  
  
He could feel his cheeks flaming as several people turned to stare at him. “No, sir.” The words grated and tasted like bile on his tongue, but Dean was totally getting off on it. A sinful gleam flashed through his eyes, and Sam was reminded of dark nights and twisted sheets and groping, warm hands.  
  
Fuck.  
  
“Wonderful,” Dean drawled, and the word stroked along Sam’s skin like a forbidden caress. Goddamn Dean anyway. He stared back, half-daring, half-pleading, and Dean’s lips twitched before he turned his attention away and onto the class as a whole. “So. By the end of the hour, I’d like at least a thousand words on, well, you. Shouldn’t be too difficult, right? Time starts now.”  
  
Sam was vaguely amused when papers started shuffling and pens and pencils started scratching. And by vaguely amused, he meant downright surly. The class had never participated this well with Ms. Winters, and the fact that it was _Dean_ who was having this kind of success, and that it was all a big-ass joke anyway…it was a little more than Sam could handle.  
  
Okay, so it wasn’t a joke. Sam knew all about the series of mysterious teen deaths circulating around town, knew his Dad and Dean were all over it as being right up the Winchesters alley. Truth was, he’d been ready to help, too. Until Dean and Dad took it upon themselves to insinuate their weird brand of sleuthing into Sam’s normal life.  
  
Gathering a full head of steam the more he thought about it, Sam bent down and retrieved his class notebook, flipping through pages of scribbled notes to locate a fresh sheet. He slanted Dean a glance, finding his brother watching the clock idly and tapping a finger against the earpiece of his glasses.  
  
It bugged Sam that Dean could wear the damn things and still come across looking like the poster child for cool. Half the time, Sam couldn’t even find sunglasses that didn’t make him look like a total dork.   
  
The minutes ticked by, and Sam wrote. Lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Dean wanted a fucking essay? Sam would give him one. He could feel his irritation coming out through his words, but didn’t stop. Relished the rush knowing that only Dean’s eyes would ever see it, anyway. And Sam had some things to tell him.  
  
Another fifteen minutes later, Dean came to his feet and cleared his throat. “And that’s all, folks. Essays on my desk and you’ll have your grade before the final bell.”  
  
Sam took his time, stretching his arms over his head before lazily walking toward Dean’s desk. Getting in line behind the same giggling girls from earlier. When he was standing in front of Dean, he met his brother’s eyes and laid the paper down without a word. Dean cocked a brow, but otherwise was silent as Sam turned away.  
  
He waited, arms crossed against his chest while Dean whistled under his breath and read the essays, every once in awhile making a considering sound and marking something down in a notebook at his elbow. Sam didn’t have to guess what that notebook was for.  
  
When he came across Sam’s paper at last, he paused. Eyes flickering over the words while Sam smirked. He leaned back, watching the variety of expressions crossing Dean’s features – confusion, irritation, a bit of amusement. And then Dean’s eyes found his, and his brother shook his head.  
  
Sam stared back darkly.  
  
When Dean had finished marking the last paper, he started calling names out. Students came up to receive their grade, and Sam’s fingers began tapping the edge of his desk. When Dean said his name, he walked up to the desk, prepared to tell his brother exactly where he could shove his “research”.  
  
“Sam,” Dean said, all easygoing and impersonal. Then a sly smile tipped the corners of his lips and he said, lower, “Watch those prepositions, baby brother.” His fingers brushed Sam’s as he handed the essay back.  
  
Sam stared down at the bright red _C-_ in a mixed state of annoyance and shock. All at once it hit him that, as ridiculous as it was, Dean actually _was_ his teacher in the eyes of the school administration. If he gave Sam a mediocre grade, Sam would have to take it.   
  
Judging by the triumphant look in Dean’s eyes, his brother knew this all too well.  
  
The sound of the bell was barely audible in Sam’s ears as chairs started sliding across the floor and students began laughing and talking and leaving the room. He just stood there, frozen, when Dean came to his feet and shut the door after the last person had left the room.  
  
“Christ, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Dean drawled, taking his seat again and slouching back in the chair. He steepled his fingers below his chin, studying Sam from under his lashes. “It’s just a C, Sammy.”  
  
And that was just _it._ Sam slammed his fist down on the desk, fingers curling into his essay as he gritted out, “ _Just_ a C, Dean? How about you’re _just_ not really a fucking teacher? How about this is _just_ some goddamn trip you and Dad are on, and how about the fact that you’re fucking around with my GPA?”  
  
Dean barely blinked. His thumb drew a slow line across his bottom lip and Sam stared, flushed and panting with rioting emotions. Then, “You done being a whiny little bitch?”  
  
Sam felt something snap. He was across the desk before his brain had even finished sending the command to his body, and Dean caught him just as Sam’s hands began to wrap around Dean’s neck.  
  
“Whoa now,” Dean said, teeth flashing dangerously. His hands were gentle but holding Sam easily at arm’s length. “Damn, you try to kill everyone who gives you a valid score, Sam?”  
  
“You fucking bastard,” Sam hissed, jerking against Dean’s grip. Ignoring the flash of amusement in his brother’s eyes, and something else he couldn’t afford to think about at the moment. Not if he wanted to put a stop to this bullshit before it got totally and completely out of control. “Get your damn hands off me.”  
  
“I dunno, Sammy, I’m in fear for my life here.” Dean’s voice had dropped several notches, warning Sam of exactly what was coming. Despite himself, Sam’s pulse kicked when Dean made a considering sound in the back of his throat and shifted, bringing Sam into his lap and flush against him. He grinned up at Sam. “Hi, baby.”  
  
Sam _hated_ when Dean called him baby. Mostly because he fucking loved it so much. He could already feel the anger melting into something altogether different, compounded times ten when Dean rolled his hips and let Sam feel the effect their closeness was having on _him._ He cleared his throat, eyes darting to the door. “We’re in my classroom, Dean.”  
  
“You mean _my_ classroom.” Dean’s tongue swiped across his lips, and Sam zeroed in. His brother’s voice went dark and husky. “C’mon, Sammy, don’t tell me you’ve never heard about blowing the teacher for a better grade.”  
  
Jesus Christ.   
  
Sam wanted to be affronted, annoyed, but Dean’s hands were sliding up the back of his shirt and squeezing, and he just sort of slumped against his brother’s broad chest. “Fuck you,” he slurred, enjoying the hot press of Dean’s fingers at the small of his back. “C my ass, jerk.”  
  
“Mmm…” Dean’s mouth caught the fleshy lobe of Sam’s ear. “You didn’t really do the assignment, Sam. Fair’s fair.”  
  
Sam lifted his head to glare. “The assignment was a load of crap, Dean. And you know it.”  
  
“Not for us, Sam. I needed that info.” There was a serious light in Dean’s eyes, even as he playfully skimmed fingertips along Sam’s spine, slowly dragging the cotton material up. There was a moment’s consideration, and then, “You know, maybe I got this all wrong.”  
  
“What?” Sam asked, more than a little suspicious by the absurdly pleased look in his brother’s eyes. When Dean removed his hands from Sam’s shirt, shoving just enough to dislodge Sam from his lap, Sam let out a little curse. “What the hell—”  
  
“Maybe you just need some motivation to succeed,” Dean said, brows quirking, and Sam practically swallowed his tongue when he found himself sprawled out in the chair, Dean on the floor between his spread legs.  
  
“Dean—”  
  
“Shh…I’m teaching here.”  
  
Sam’s head fell back as the sound of his zipper being lowered echoed in his ears, hand dropping heavily on his brother’s shoulder. “Dean, this is…” _Horribly wrong? Don’t fucking stop or I might—?_  
  
His internal conflict came to a screeching halt as Dean’s hot breath slid across the head of his cock, and he looked down to find his brother watching him through hooded eyes. A smirk colored those fucking pretty lips. “Hot for teacher, eh, Sammy?”  
  
Sam’s fingers tightened in Dean’s hair, tugging at the soft strands until his brother’s eyes watered. “Just shut up and… _do it_ ,” he hissed through his teeth, splaying his fingers along Dean’s cheek and guiding him down.  
  
Dean was grinning, all smug and arrogant, when he opened his mouth and closed it over Sam’s cock. Sam let out a soft curse, thighs tightening, eyes shooting toward the door again. Dean’s tongue flicked out, curling and twisting, and Sam couldn’t hold back the quiet groan.  
  
“You’re still a total jackass,” he managed, voice slurred and dreamy as he rocked into Dean’s warm-wet mouth.   
  
Dean’s lips slid off with a slick pop. “And you still deserved a C.” Before Sam could respond, he was licking a rough, velvety trail along Sam’s shaft. Sam could feel the beard shadowing his brother’s jaw, tickling along his inner thigh.  
  
“Dean.” The word was a low keening, rich with desperation and ripe with frustration. His hand slipped from Dean’s cheek, thumb plucking at Dean’s bottom lip. “Oh God…”  
  
Dean looked much too pleased with himself, holding Sam’s gaze and putting on a show worthy of a triple X movie. Sam’s breath came out strangled and clenched, and he was lifting his hips and fucking Dean’s mouth in shallow, jerky bursts.  
  
Through bleary eyes he watched the suck and flick, blood rushing in his head and dick, and he could _hear_ himself babbling, but the words made no sense. Dean’s lips were shiny and pink now, swollen from the weight of Sam’s flesh, and that was enough to have Sam coming in blissful agony.  
  
He slumped back in the chair, breath harsh and gasping as Dean rocked back on his heels and ran both hands up the tense muscles in Sam’s thighs. “Better?” his brother murmured, all the teasing and sarcasm replaced by affection and concern.  
  
Sam threw an arm over his eyes and laughed a bit brokenly. “Dean, we are so fucked up.”  
  
There was a long pause, and Sam almost wished he could take the words back. They were true, but it wasn’t like he didn’t want – wasn’t _just_ as invested in – this shit as much as Dean. And he knew it made Dean all twitchy whenever Sam started trying to talk about it. Needing to understand exactly where this was all going.  
  
When he finally opened his eyes, Dean was standing over him, wiping his mouth and looking about a thousand miles too far away. Sam’s heart clenched when his brother shot him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  
  
“Hey, as long as you realize it, Sam.”  
  
And then his hands were reaching for the glasses perched on the desk, slipping them on as if to shield himself from Sam’s view.  
  
“Dean…” Sam wanted to reach out, reassure, but Dean was already around the desk and heading for the door. When his brother shot him a questioning look over one shoulder, Sam easily read the _back off and don’t ask_ vibe. So he forced his voice to sound just as dispassionate and distant. “Can I get a ride?”  
  
Dean’s fingers relaxed on the doorknob. “Yeah, sure.” He waited a beat, then added, “Meet me in the parking lot in fifteen minutes.”  
  
Sam knew Dean needed that time to get out of “costume” and, maybe, to gather himself as well. Not that Sam would ever mention that speculation out loud. Not to Dean Winchester, who prided himself on not feeling the softer emotions. Who acted like the only things he cared about outside of hunting and family were a good beer and a hot woman.  
  
It was too bad Dean was such a fucking bad actor.


End file.
